When the local fire department set the Royal house ablaze, grey confining smoke billowed up over the woods of Cemetery Rd

The home had rested in a barren field with its barn only yards away and a tiny shed standing like its sentry nearby. The barn’s paint had been washed out but you could still make out streaks of royal blue and red and a faint rusted orange.

If the sun from the west was shining on the chubby apple tree something brighter would quickly catch your eye. Parked along the rear of the barn was an old chevy truck painted construction cone orange, its polished chrome headlights and rusted grill peeking out as if to let some passer by know that life still abounded around that barn.

If you knocked,feet would shuffle inside the home, a space eclipsed by a local college dorm. A gentle man would open the door,his long hair graying to white, wearing a faded college t-shirt and the presumed uniform of a farmer. He would greet you with a smile, lips turned up five degrees,“Phillip Royal, but folks just call me Royal,” he would say,“been Royal all my life so long ‘s I’ve lived here.”

On his land, no dirt had been turned for the sake of crops, no corn stalks were weeping in the wind, or rows of gardenburrowing beneath themselves. What life had Royal abandoned – on the river, on the run –for this retreat here?

The paper ran a story about a new public park – the old fireworks factory was moving –There would be a missing link between old park and new.Thus the Royals negotiated a saleas a tradeoff for a town’s need for green.

Where would they go? Was there a “they”? With a care center located minutes from their door, would you drive by the entrance one dawn and find a homemade sign,Happy 100th Phillip Royal – King of Cemetery Rd?

The firefighters had left only straw to cover the footprints of the three Royal plots. At last sight, on that groundstacks of trees that would never be climbed sat in piles with a sign marked “dump”holding the damage from the latest wind storm.

A spotted owl had migrated here,one street over from where its giant oak had split. And a man with two kayaks atop his truck gazed through his binoculars at a soaring skeleton of a tree, seeking the owl, or waiting for Philipto offer wisdom from this noble land.

Vincenzella

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I once knew about kindness, when the wind blew in a stranger – not knowing my plight – yet seeing my soul – spoke words of wisdom to my spirit. It wasn’t until a year later I saw him again and was able to share my thankfulness.” – from a participant in City Gospel Mission’s Journey in Words, […]

Gettin’ My City On – by Annette Januzzi Wick: Gettin' My City On

This is my forty-sixth in a series of walking Cincinnati’s 52 neighborhoods to find what makes each relevant to me. Follow me on Instagram for a hint of where I’ll venture next. A week off had solidified my desire to complete this “walking project” strong. Still in re-entry mode and wanting a short walk, I drove to English […]